Rafe has been fed and lies beside Constance in the hamper, which is now empty of food and cushioned with bedding and linens. She reaches over to straighten the blanket that he has kicked off and which lies in a messy pile at his feet. His hair is turning just a tinge darker, less fiery than when he first came into their care. She smoothes it with a gentle hand.
Then a thought intrudes and she feels as if her stomach drops deeper into her body. Surely not! Why? What would two men want with a baby? She tries to shake the idea from her mind when the captain appears by her side.
‘Here, madam.’ He places one of Angela’s china plates in her hands.
She looks up at him; the fear of the unthinkable written on her face.
‘Madam.’ He cannot call her by her given name as she asked. ‘Whatever those men want, they’ll only find at the end of my fist. All of us, and my Angela, too, we fight if we have to.’
She does not tell him her strange and dreadful notion. He will think her mad.
‘Soon we stop to change the horses. Then we enter the long tunnel. You must eat now. It ain’t for the faint-hearted.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.’
She picks up her fork and pokes at the food before taking a bite of the shredded ham. Her eye is trained on the towpath. The pudding is meaty and moist, the carrots sweet. She feels a murderous boil in her blood. She will do whatever necessary to protect the child. The fried potatoes are glorious.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘Curses and more curses.’ Captain Emil spits into the canal with a low-voiced growl.
There is a delay at City Road Basin. The Islington tunnel has no towpath and the steamboat that would pull them through the dark abyss needs a new boiler. Misery.
It is the busiest time of the day. Between five and six o’clock wagons pour into the basin laden with goods. The wharves are crammed with boats, in which the name of Pickfords dominates. The captain locates three moorings; it is a tight fit but the narrow-boats manoeuvre and tie up.
Preoccupied with finding extra men to help leg them through the tunnel, he assigns tasks to his crew. Supplies must be purchased, the boys are sent to the stables to change horses, and arrangements must be made to reload freight on their return. Before he steps onto the bank, Captain Emil speaks to Angela in the patois of the boatpeople. Constance hears a few words but they make no sense to her. ‘Foreign,’ he says, and something about the cabin box. Angela seems to reassure him with a firm nod of her head. He gives her arm an affectionate squeeze before he enters the fray on the bank of the canal.
Dusk descends upon the basin. Grey smoke rises from the boats’ chimneys and drifts towards the flour wharves, then disappears into the Scandinavian timber yard. Angela lights the lamps inside the cabin. One of the boys sees to the lighting at the bow and stern of each boat. The lanterns are richly painted; the blushing, pink roses and purple pansies create the effect of a glowing, evening garden.
Constance paces the wooden planks and looks out across the basin as it comes alive with lamplight. One by one the canal-side workers illuminate the expanse of the basin. She can just glimpse Bertie and Percy as they wander off in search of tobacco and beer.
Verity emerges from the cabin having added extra layers of warmth to Rafe’s clothing. He is drawn to the reflection of the lanterns’ light in the water and leans out from Verity’s grasp, his arms stretching to touch the image of floating, waving light.
‘Shall we go to your Aunt Constance?’ she asks him. He looks all around him when he hears Constance’s name.
As Verity comes towards her, Constance is struck with a very clear vision. As if she has been in a long, deep sleep and a slap of cold air has rattled and shaken her, she wakes fully aware: the men, all the men, are absent from our boats. She surveys their location again. How vulnerable they seem to be. The night has come now and it falls down upon her in a bad way. Her eyes dart around at the empty barges and boats, whose masters are doing business on land. She raises her hand to Verity to stop where she stands. She would very much like to tell her to take Rafe back inside the cabin. But she is too late, for there are the two men who have been following them. They appear like swift phantoms and are on board in an instant. The men’s faces are covered with black kerchiefs.
One of them, the taller of the two, positions himself behind Verity. He grabs her and spins her around, then reaches for the boy. The other man blocks Constance, creating a barrier between the sisters.
Verity tries to fight off her attacker as best she can while still clinging to Rafe. She lets out a scream that does not sound human.
Constance scratches at the eyes of the man who holds her back. He hits her in the face with his fist. She drops.
The man struggling with Verity suddenly relinquishes her as he feels cold hard steel against the back of his neck.
‘There ain’t no delay when I pull this trigger. So move away, or I have a large heavy bullet for you. One for your friend, too.’ Angela has stripped off the robe of shyness.
Astonishingly, despite the gun at his head, the man acts as if he has not heard or understood Angela, and lurches forward again to try and tear the baby from Verity’s arms. Angela brings the handle of her pistol down hard. She intends to hit his temple,
